


General Admission

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5847442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scenes for "Message in a Bottle." A general shouldn't have favorites among his people, but secretly, Hammond did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	General Admission

 

First published in  _Gateways 4_ (2001)

 

Being a military commander was one thing. Being the commander of a project that included research and exploration along with military objectives was something else all together.

It was part of why General George C. Hammond had handpicked the people in the SGC, because so much of what they did was beyond his scope of knowledge or experience. Good commanders for the teams were a must, ones he could trust to make decisions on their own on planets thousands of light years away. But also, he made sure they had the best to back them up, scientists at the top of their fields, military personnel who had proved themselves up to the unique challenges of the SGC. And SG-1 was the cream of the crop.

It was that quiet confidence in the team’s judgment with which Hammond had greeted the team’s return from P5C-353 and nodded acceptance at the promising-looking orb they had brought back with them. The possibility of it containing a power source that had lasted for millennia piqued his attention as it had no doubt Captain Carter’s and Doctor Jackson’s and would also the NID. Very promising.

“Everything go as planned, Colonel?” He’d turned to Jack O’Neill.

“Oh, one small step, one giant leap, that kind of stuff, sir,” the man answered with a typical wry grin.

Hammond found himself swallowing a smile in return. O’Neill rarely forgot who was in charge or the respect due a ranking officer, and after over twenty-five years of service, he was as military as they came. But there was also a streak of mischief in him a mile wide that amused as much as annoyed his commanding officer. Hammond would have called it being laid-back if he hadn’t known the man better, hadn’t seen him go so many times from loose and laid back to alert and on edge in the blink of an eye. He’d seen the man’s eyes. O’Neill was anything but uninvolved.

Hammond waved the team off, watching again with restrained amusement as the two scientists outdid each other in their haste to make it back to the lab. Speaking of which...The general turned toward his office; he had a phone call to make. The kids would want to play with their new find, and he’d run interference for them as much as possible, but the NID still had to be notified.

 

The call didn’t have to be made at once Hammond had finally decided. With no teams outstanding and no crisis on the deck, he’d indulged in going home for a good night’s rest that evening. Jack O’Neill’s jeep had sailed by him as Hammond’s chauffeured car pulled out of the base, and the general merely shook his head. He had no doubt where Carter and Jackson would be spending the evening, but scientific inquiry would hardly be a deterrence for Jack to spending a rare night out. Teal’c sometimes went with him, but this time O’Neill seemed to be alone, and Hammond could guess that the Jaffa was in his quarters on base, probably meditating.

Like with his own children when they were small, Hammond thought to himself with a smile, he felt better when he knew where his people were.

The next morning he’d dialed Washington first thing. It had been nice to call with good news for once, even though the hungry response he received made Hammond’s stomach turn. An indefinite power source had all sorts of possible worldwide applications, but the government would first exploit any military use out of it they could. Hammond had long learned to live with that fact, but he never enjoyed it. Bureaucracy and governmental politics was one thing he would have willingly given up in his career.

That duty done, Hammond stood and left his office for the ‘gate control room.

He’d thought once that, like driving a car or learning to fly, the initial awe of the Stargate would fade after a while, becoming as common as the missions that regularly took place through the ‘gate. It never had, though. Every single time he entered the room, or the control room or briefing rooms that overlooked it, the wonder hit him all over again. It was for that reminder that he went down at least daily, to soak in again what their project really was all about.

And, of course, it was then when things began to fall apart.

“Start dialing up P5C-353 right away,” came Daniel Jackson’s voice urgently behind him, and Hammond looked up at the scientist’s unexpected presence and even less expected words in surprise.

“By whose orders?”

“Colonel O’Neill.”

Hammond didn’t hesitate. If Jack had ordered it, he would have good reason. “Do it,” he told the technician.

By the time the seventh chevron was encoded, Jack and Teal’c had reached the 'gateroom, the orb held between them. But while the object had been dark and smooth before, it now glowed from within and was dotted with malicious spikes. And George Hammond knew at once they had managed to get in over their heads yet again.

Without warning, a spike suddenly shot out, burying itself in the 'gateroom floor.

Before he could even react, a second followed it, then more, each slicing through everything in their path. One barely missed Teal’c, another angled off toward a far corner.

That was when they ran out of luck.

Hammond had no chance to yell or second Carter’s screamed warning as a final spike went right through Jack O’Neill’s shoulder. Within a blink of an eye, he was pinned to the wall of the 'gateroom, his feet dangling as he hung, impaled, from the spike.

Another horrible death Hammond would witness. Awful deja vu.

Hammond had seen good people die in every means imaginable by a sick mind, but that was usually out in combat, not at home base. And somehow not quite this horrifically. Stomach turning at the sight, he watched speechlessly for a half-second before pulling himself together and ordering the necessary alert and assistance, automatically assessing new dangers and dealing with the crisis at hand. That was his job, never mind the fact that he felt ready to vomit or that he’d probably just witnessed his senior team leader and a man he considered a friend mortally wounded. Hammond absently ordered the 'gate shut down even as he saw Teal’c uselessly grab hold of his trapped commander.

“Oh, my God,” Daniel whispered next to him and suddenly took off out of the room.

That broke their shock. Carter and Hammond followed the archaeologist down. Frasier arrived, too, just as Teal’c left and returned with his staff weapon.

One more in a long string of decisions to be made with very little information to go on. But Jack O’Neill made it for Hammond. The colonel held on to Teal’c as the Jaffa had originally rushed up to him, some sort of unspoken communication passing between them, as with any highly synchronized team. Now, his face crushed with agony, he screamed for Teal’c to shoot the orb. H

Hammond bit back his automatic protest. He couldn’t argue with O’Neill, not with one of the few chances of hope that he could see, let alone the dying man’s plea. Chilled through as always by the thought of seeing one of his men alive for the last time, Hammond ordered them back to the control room, overriding with unusual briskness Carter’s objections to what Teal’c was about to try.

Maybe he should have listened. Hammond watched Teal’c’s two unsuccessful attempts with the taste of helpless anger bitter in his mouth. Each try caused even greater pain to the wounded man, and Hammond refused to let himself cringe visibly. General’s weren’t allowed human weaknesses.

Carter offered little hope, and even as Hammond changed gears and ordered a cutting torch, he was starting to think she was right. With great difficulty, he leaned over to the intercom.

“Colonel O’Neill, this is going to take some time.” Hammond hoped Jack O’Neill would know how regretfully he said that.

And as he turned away, it began to really sink in, that old familiar haunting feeling. Yet another of his men was going to die right in front of his eyes. And there wasn’t a thing George Hammond could do about it.

A ladder had been brought for O’Neill and Frasier was treating him. Hammond knew that, and that there was little more for him to do. But it was still with impatience that he called NID and with bare politeness told them they weren’t going to get their precious orb any time soon. Not that he wouldn’t have cheerfully given it to them had it been possible. The idea of Maybourne experiencing the orb up close and personal gave Hammond some cold satisfaction.

The next orders of business waited restlessly while he talked. Hanging up the phone, Hammond turned to Carter and Jackson and relayed NID’s not unexpected response.

Daniel shifted where he stood, his expression troubled. “General, I don’t know what to say. I wanted the orb to be something wonderful.”

Hammond understood what the young scientist was not saying. Along with SG-1’s incredible track record and cohesiveness came an unusual degree of closeness between its members. Facing fire together usually forged steel bonds of trust and faith, but this was more like family, some sort of psychological meshing Hammond didn’t even pretend to understand and would have been uncomfortable acknowledging. Not that he was above being grateful for it. It was unquestionably part of what made SG-1 work so well. Unfortunately, the cost was equally high. Cut one and the others bled, especially if they considered themselves responsible for the injury.

He softened his voice to the sympathy he sometimes allowed himself, particularly with this young civilian who had more loyalty than many of those in uniform.

“You have nothing to apologize for, son.” They’d been playing the odds on something like that happening for some time now. Hammond said as much.

“We managed to collect a significant amount of data before it hit the fan, sir,” Carter put in.

Hammond turned to include her in his gaze. She was the one usually who tried to put the positive spin on the situation, remaining logical and constructive even when things were at their worst. More military in some ways than O’Neill, Hammond had once thought with amusement. But her emotions, while under control, were there under the surface for anyone who cared to look. She was as worried sick as Daniel. Being military didn’t mean not feeling anything, no matter how it sometimes looked.

He suggested they get back to work, not unkindly, and watched them leave, Carter’s head high with determined hope, Jackson’s hands in his pockets and radiating despair. Very, very different people, and yet together they could often perform miracles. Hammond was counting on one that day.

But in the meantime... He picked up the phone, not needing to dial for this. “This is Hammond. Lock up the mountain, authorization code Red-Beta. Initiate Wildfire.”

 

There was a superstition among commanding officers that you never said things couldn’t get worse because then they always did. A half-hour later, with the base sealed and O’Neill still trapped, Hammond stood in the briefing room and listened to Carter’s report. And, naturally, just when he thought they could only go up, the news had gotten exponentially worse. Frasier was next to him, busy swabbing his arm and then giving him an injection of something, but Hammond didn’t even flinch, didn’t stop to ask her what she was doing. He assumed she had a good reason, and he trusted his people. But it also was one more sign that the situation was going south, fast.

An infection of the base, Carter was explaining, which already sounded bad. The further information that their preventative measures were proving useless didn’t help. Nor did Frasier’s pushing to lift Wildfire quarantine in order to bring in more antibiotics. He didn’t like being strict with the doctor; she was USAF too, but her first priority was saving lives just as his was the good of the country--the world, even. He could understand that, and he softened his dismissal just enough to try to tell her so. From the look she gave him, he wasn’t sure she bought it.

For that matter, he wasn’t always sure he did, either.

He stopped Carter from also leaving. “Captain.”

She turned toward him, tired but alert. “Sir?”

“I need your honest assessment. Can we beat this thing?”

“Well, like the colonel always says, never give up, right?” She tried to smile.

SG-1 really had rubbed off on each other. Hammond hadn’t even quite realized how much until now. Jack also didn’t know sometimes when to cut it out.

Or maybe Carter was just trying to fill the absence they both keenly felt.

He couldn’t quite withhold his disapproval; there just wasn’t time to indulge in their usual attempts to lighten the bad times, and he saw her acknowledge that and grow sober. Good military. “I’m not sure, sir.”

Hammond didn’t like it, but she’d given him an honest answer. He trusted her for that, just as he did when she went on to shoot down all his other ideas: evacuation through the 'gate, finding an uninhabited planet. She left him few options. But sometimes that was all there were.

“Very well. We’ll make our stand right here, Captain.” He turned away, heart heavy.

“It won’t take us without a fight, sir.”

“Damn right, it won’t,” he affirmed quietly.

A minute later, he heard Carter walk out of the room, leaving him looking down into the dark 'gateroom below.

Only Teal’c was there with Jack now, and the master engineer of the base. The latter was intently working on cutting through the spike impaling O’Neill, almost through by the looks of it. But it was the other pair the general silently watched.

Teal’c stood next to the colonel, talking about something to the injured man. O’Neill’s answers were difficult and slow, the Jaffa’s words as solemn as they ever were. Jack almost smiled at one point, a smile of regret.

They were perhaps the oddest pair of all his people, Hammond reflected. Carter probably would have fit in anywhere, career military, but she seemed to have adopted her fellow teammates as a bunch of sometimes annoying but still loved brothers. Daniel Jackson had been a chronic misfit until he’d landed in SG-1 and found an outlet for his passion. Hammond knew the young man was searching for his wife, but he also seemed to have been taken in as the little brother of the group who everyone watched out for and teased and who also seemed to get in trouble all the time. And it wasn’t a secret O’Neill had been crushed by the death of his son, but seemed to have found a new purpose in herding along his motley team. As paradoxical as it seemed, the military needed people who cared, and Jack had rediscovered the trait in himself thanks to SG-1.            

But Teal’c had family, if on another planet, apparently self-sufficient in all his needs and wants. He’d joined the SGC out of a desire to help his people and fight a common enemy, but Hammond hadn’t expected it to go farther than that. Instead, a kinship had sprung up between the Jaffa and the colonel, two leaders, two fathers, two warriors. Ironically, it was with the alien Jack had found the most commonalities and become an equal. And it was Teal’c who now stayed with him in tenacious loyalty.

The engineer stopped, raising his mask to say something, and Hammond saw the frown appear on Teal’c’s face just as he realized himself something was wrong. Before anyone could move, the spike grew once more, the nearly severed section sliding into O’Neill and jostling the injured man into a cry of pain.

Hammond reached immediately for the intercom, then stopped, realizing he had nothing to say. Instead, Teal’c spoke softly to O’Neill, holding on to the man’s arm as the colonel clung to his shoulder. And began to cry, bitten-back sobs of defeat. Teal’c only stood next to him in silent support and understanding.

The general set his jaw and turned away. For all his rank, authority, and experience, there were times when Hammond felt absolutely helpless.

 

The reports filtered in as he kept tabs on the lack of progress, of Lieutenant Simmons’ worsening condition, of Carter and Jackson’s continued bafflement. Hammond went down to visit Simmons himself, seeing in the young face so many others who had approached death with just as much confusion and courage.

But he was always drawn inexorably back to the control room, watching with tacit approval as Teal’c finally took the cutting torch and began to sweep the infected section of wall with it, the luminescent blue spread fading where the fire hit it.

The computers monitors started flickering. One more step back. Hammond raised his chin a little higher and continued to watch Teal’c’s efforts.

Carter swept into the room a minute later. “General, sir, I have something.”

Naturally, it turned out to be just the opposite of what Teal’c was doing. Hammond bit back a sigh; was anything going to be easy in this situation? Even his own common sense argued with what Carter was saying.

“Sir, I’m asking you to trust me,” was how she finished.

And that he couldn’t argue with. He’d trusted her many times in the past, and they were still alive because of it. “Do it,” he instructed the tech.

“Sir...” Another voice cut in. He didn’t need the technician’s warning. In front of him, Wildfire’s self-destruct activated, a three-hour countdown starting.

This would possibly be it. His command, all his people, doomed to only three more hours of life before their well-meaning curiosity did them in. No man ever resigned himself to death, no matter what he said, but Hammond accepted at that moment that perhaps it would be inevitable.

Carter protested, but he wouldn’t budge. Their lives would be a small price to pay for the safety of their country and world; she should know that. It was something most people in the military learned to accept, if not like.

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t think you understand. If can feed off the energy of a staff blast--how far do you think it’ll spread if the auto-destruct goes off?”

It only took a split-second to sink in. It wouldn’t be a sacrifice they’d be making for the good of the planet. They’d be signing the world’s death warrant. He took a breath.

“I need two officers to override.”

Only, it wasn’t that easy. It was never that easy. The computer screen wavered again, throwing up a screen of gibberish. Unresponsive to their override commands.

Carter straightened slowly, giving words to the obvious. The organism had invaded the computer. And without the computer, they couldn’t deactivate the self-destruct.

The captain’s response was like the knell of doom. “Then in just under three hours, sir, the organism will be fed enough energy to spread across the face of the earth.”

And that was where responsibility and rank became hell.

 

There had been a time when he’d thought being a field commander was hard. Serving in two wars, sending his men on missions, sometimes to their deaths. George Hammond, then a colonel and later a lieutenant colonel, had known by name every single one of the soldiers who died under his command, and wrote each of their families himself to send his condolences. They said it never got easier and it didn’t, but he was glad for that. If it ever did, he would have resigned his commission the very next morning. Knowing his men and feeling their loss was always his constant reminder it was real people he was dealing with, not numbers or robots.

And that was before the fate of the world came to rest on his shoulders.

That had become the burden he’d taken upon himself with the acceptance of command of the Stargate Project. Hammond had had no idea at the time what he was getting himself into, not that he would have chosen any differently if he had. But sometimes thoughts would stray back to those naive days in field command and what an awesome charge it had seemed. Since then, with billions of anonymous people at stake, he’d felt the responsibility more than he could have ever dreamed.

Hammond hovered in the control room, no place better to go as he sought fruitlessly for some solution. He was out of his depth and he knew it; that was why they had scientists on the top secret military base. But to not do anything would have been to give into the despair tempting him. Losing his life, even his people, was one thing. Losing the planet was a whole other, and Hammond would fight it with his dying breath. The world wasn’t going to go down, not on his watch. They’d worked too hard and long, survived too many crises, to be done in now.

And Jackson wasn’t helping. The archaeologist’s excited arrival had momentarily given Hammond hope of a breakthrough, and the general had listened closely, more confused by the moment as Daniel had spoken of intelligent life and attempts at communication. An enemy with a face was still an enemy, and while communicating with it seemed a possible solution, it was hard not to grow impatient as Jackson admitted he had no idea what the organism was saying. What good was useless information?

Doctor Jackson had been one of the few SGC members who had joined the project almost by default, without Hammond’s okay. Sure, he had been the one to approve the young man to actually become part of SG-1 and field personnel, but by the time he did, he was only making official the place Jackson had already made for himself at the project. No, not just the SGC--SG-1. If finding his wife had become his mission, the team had become his substitute family and home, especially world-weary Jack. Since then, Hammond had watched the quiet young man gain confidence, sarcasm--no doubt thanks to O’Neill--and wisdom. Indeed, the civilian had become one of the most invaluable members of the SGC, and one Hammond listened to more and more.

But now, Daniel stood silent in answer to the general’s question of how to communicate.

“We let it grow,” Carter suddenly said behind him. Feed it oxygen, give it more energy; Hammond curbed his anger as Carter’s so-called solution sunk in. He relied on, made decisions based on the information his people gave him, and he’d been hedging a lot of bets on Carter’s advice. Now, perhaps, she’d been leading him the wrong way all along--what was he to believe when his experts did about-faces?

Some of the anger boiled over anyway. “The exact _opposite_ of the advice you’ve been giving me up to now. Which is it, Captain?”

She looked at him with apology and understanding, something he did not want from her at that moment. “General, sir, we both know what will happen if we don’t try something.”

Unfortunately, he did.

They went down to the 'gateroom to join Teal’c and the colonel.

Jack looked terrible, all but dead, and Hammond felt his gut twist. This was about more than just losing a good man. Jack O’Neill, with all his crazy humor and priceless experience, was in many ways one of Hammond’s touchstones at the SGC. Losing him meant losing a friend and support.

Carter was already talking about the organisms having trapped O’Neill on purpose, wanting to use him as a means of communication. Hammond tamped down his renewed anger at the thought that all of this had been planned, deliberately torturing SG-1’s leader. One more lesson of command, the need to completely divorce oneself from the feelings and concentrate only on what needed to be done.

And what Carter said needed to be done was to take Jack off the medication.

Hammond couldn’t help it. His eyes widened, disbelieving. “Are you out of your mind?” he asked. Let Jack die? Hadn’t that been what they’d fought so hard against this long? And the last person he’d expected to hear those words from was Sam Carter.

Teal’c stepped forward. “If you do so, O’Neill will die.”

That was more what he expected to hear, and Hammond turned expectantly back to the captain.

“He’d want us to try this. I know it,” Carter insisted.

It was Hammond’s decision to make, just like all the other countless life-and-death choices in the past. The possible good of the base, even the world, weighed against the loss of one man.            

But maybe this one wasn’t up to him.

Carter stared at him, wide-eyed and sincere. Funny, while Jackson had become tougher since joining the team, Carter had softened considerably. Upon her arrival, she’d struck Hammond as having something to prove and doing so by allowing herself to show no weakness, no softness. She’d seemed about as compatible with O’Neill as corn flakes and prune juice, and Hammond wondered who would report the other first. But Jack had given her credit for her intelligence, and Teal’c had looked at her as an equal from the start. And Daniel, well, the kindred scientist spoke her language and defied all her attempts to be military with him. It wasn’t long before Hammond’s worries faded, as he watched the young captain find her niche and bloom. And join the family.

The very same family she’d defended in the past with her life, and now would be no exception. What she’d said made some kind of sense, but it was the fact that she was a member of SG-1 which decided him. She probably did know better what O’Neill would have wanted, and it wasn’t something she would have said without being certain. In fact, Hammond was willing to wager if things went wrong, she would carry a far heavier weight than he’d ever had to. This was her personal decision, and Daniel and Teal’c’s, just like every other they’d made for the team.

Daniel spoke up, also beginning to buy the idea as he thought about it. And Teal’c, while not agreeing, gave no further protest. They’d made their choice.

Hammond watched, forcing himself not to intervene as Carter approached and, with all the gentleness of a mother with a sick child, spoke to Jack, finally removing his IV. And then telling Teal’c to begin firing at the orb to feed it the energy it needed to complete its job.

Jack O’Neill died. And George Hammond mourned deep in his heart.

And then Jack’s head rose and he spoke.

For a moment, fascination warred with anger. It was just this kind of unknown which had drawn Hammond into this command, not only the constant new experiences, but experiences far beyond the reach of his imagination. Maybe, despite all common sense, it almost meant somehow Jack wasn’t gone for good, either.

But whatever the outcome, it was clear Jack wasn’t in there alone, and it was time for Hammond to pull himself together and play diplomat.

He stepped closer. “Who else are we talking to?”

The answer wasn’t helpful--the race spoke en masse. Nor was it easy to negotiate with an opponent who knew as much about him and the SGC as Jack O’Neill did. At least he could be honest about their innocent, if misguided intentions. Daniel and Teal’c also joined in the discussion, and he let them. Their additions were as helpful as always, and they knew their team leader even better than Hammond did. At least the organisms didn’t seem hostile. Maybe it would even allow him to stop the self-destruct even though it would only feed them.

“If you would allow us to restore our communications, we could stop that from happening. We would survive.”           

“O’Neill desires this as well. He wishes to live.” Hammond didn’t doubt that for a second. Jack had changed a lot from the man portrayed in the original Abydos mission reports. The organisms/Jack looked at him intently. “But what of us?”

That was the question, wasn’t it. And Hammond had no good answer.

“P4G-881!” Daniel suddenly burst out. Startled, the general looked at the Jackson, wondering what random idea he’d indulged in this time. But Daniel went on, and Hammond began to get the idea. A primordial planet, hot, wet, sunny, just the kind of place the organism would thrive in and harm no one.

“You would send us there?” The organism asked, also surprised. “Through your Stargate?”

“We would,” Hammond said.

“For what reason?”

“So that we both may survive.” The organism studied him, studied Daniel. Jack’s feelings about them would play into its decision now, telling it who it could believe. Who it trusted. A few years back, that would have doomed them all to death, but now, Jack would listen, especially to his team.

Jack’s head fell back against the wall, to all appearances dead once more.           

Daniel began to plead with the organism, desperate, and next to the general, Samantha Carter bit her lip. Her idea had worked, but perhaps it would cost them the colonel anyway.

Then everything shut down.

The room went dark, only the Wildfire countdown continuing. Despite the general’s best efforts--all their best efforts--it seemed like they’d failed. “God help us.” Hammond began to pray.

“Sir, sir, I think the computers are rebooting,” the tech called excitedly from above.

Hammond was instantly in motion, racing back to the control room, Carter at his back. “Start dialing PG-881 as soon as they’re up!”

From there he watched in amazement as O’Neill’s body began to move again, watching as the spike pulled out of his body and he stood. Slowly, he walked down the ladder and moved to in front of the orb, grasping it. All the spikes retreated into the alien sphere.

The seventh chevron engaged, and the wormhole opened and stabilized. O’Neill, still holding the orb, marched up the ramp and gracefully released it through the surface of the 'gate. A heartbeat, and then Jack collapsed.

Only seconds remaining on the countdown, the 'gate shut down and Hammond lunged at the computer, Carter following his lead next to him. They typed with all the urgency of the lives that depended on them.

“Auto-destruct is aborted.”

Four little words, and the weight of a planet lifted off George Hammond’s shoulders.

Already down below, Daniel and Teal’c were hurrying to Jack’s side, and with a quick querying glance at him, Carter went to join them. Hammond’s own heart began to settle as he watched the three crowd concernedly around the colonel, helping him sit up. Jack had his back to the general, but it looked to Hammond as if the man were awake and coherent, answering the worried questions of his teammates. Gently, they helped him to his feet, Carter and Jackson on either side as he weaved his way down the ramp. Teammates.

Vastly satisfied, Hammond watched them leave, then walked stiffly back to his office and had a drink.

 

He allowed them a half-hour of private recovery and celebration before joining his people down in the infirmary. First stop was at Lieutenant Simmons’ bed, and while the young man looked awful, Doctor Frasier assured him he was only in deep sleep and would recover. The organism had left his body and the antibiotics were on their way to combat the lingering infection. Hammond allowed himself a paternal smile, then left the lieutenant to sleep.

The next room he only peered into from the observation room above, not wanting to intrude, but he stayed far longer there. Jack O’Neill lay curled on his side on the bed below, also in exhausted sleep. That didn’t seem to deter the three people grouped around his bed. Daniel had hitched himself up onto the mattress near Jack’s head, saying something to Teal’c, who stood at the foot like some sort of ancient sentinel. No doubt protecting as he’d not been able to in the 'gateroom. And Sam Carter leaned over Jack on the opposite side, her hand curled around his wrist as she monitored the pulse that had been absent the last time she checked. No doubt only clinical interest, Hammond’s mouth quirked wryly. Despite the reams of data from the orb still to be analyzed, the scientists were in no hurry to be elsewhere, and Teal’c seemed to be where he belonged.

They all were. He’d known that, but sometimes it was easy to forget. They’d all found their place with each other, just as he had with the SGC.

Leaving his people to their quiet victory, George Hammond went home to celebrate in private and get some sleep.

The End


End file.
